The footsteps were thick and wet as they made their way down the hall, like the steps of a diver emerged from the ocean, damp and slow. Rip had been dispatched to this boat to find survivors, a mission which so far had borne no fruit. In fact, the ship appeared to be something of a ghost vessel, untethered and drifting aimlessly across the lazy waves of the ocean at night. He’d combed every inch, careful to be as thorough in his search for the Lady Day’s crew as he could. He was certain he hadn’t missed anything, yet there was the unmistakable clod of diver’s boots coming down the side of the boat, toward the prow. So as not to attract unwanted attention, he’d taken his submersible close to the derelict vehicle and then swam the rest of way to the boat. Given his watery approach, he was forced to leave his pistol behind and was armed now only with a diver’s knife. It would have to do, he thought, if this thing lumbering toward him now was looking for trouble.
But who could it be? The question raced through his mind as he crouched against the outer wall of the bridge, knife firmly in hand. No other craft had approached the ship since he’d arrived. It could be a smuggler, or perhaps an operator from a rival faction or government? Had they arrived by submersible as well? If so, why would they need a full diving suit and not simple scuba gear? For each question he asked himself, there were merely more questions. The only thing that made sense was that this person approaching was a member of the crew, but the diving wench was fully spooled. Who then, or what, was he about to face?
